


Another Time

by locrianrose



Series: Drabbles From a Broken World [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, F/M, Zombie Apocalypse, the death is implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-13 00:10:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7130279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/locrianrose/pseuds/locrianrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the end of the world, and you've somehow gotten stuck here with him. You're not sure what to think about that. You change your mind over time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Time

There’s something about him. You don’t know what it is, and at times, you don’t want to think about what it is. Before all of this happened, before the world fell apart, you doubt that the two of you would have associated, but now you’re forced to, and as much as you would profess to hate the man, you’re forced to admit that you doubt you’d have survived without the assistance that he has provided you. He’s used to fighting, and while you prided yourself on your fitness, you hadn’t been prepared for any of this, yet the chaos in what had happened had forced the two of you together, and here you stand. His previous penchant for violence would have disgusted you, but in this world it serves you both well.

He knows that you’re searching for your daughters, that you’d give anything to find them or to know that they live still, and while he might pick at your other habits, this one thing seems to be something that he recognizes as sacred, a part of something that he refuses to mock, and you are grateful for that simple mercy.

You don’t understand why this man, abrasive as he is, would respect that, until you’ve been traveling together for nearly a month after the end. It’s late, and the two of you are holed up in an abandoned house, sharing dismal meal of a can of cold beans that you found in the bottom of a cupboard.

Neither of you are speaking, and then he hands you a photograph, worn and battered around the edges. You take it carefully, noting the way it’s been folded and unfolded over and over. There are two boys in it, tall and gangly, but distinctly similar to him in their wild hair and eyes. You stare for a minute or so, pondering why he’s decided to show you this until he finally speaks.

“Don’t know what happened to them after it all.”

You think about this revelation, remembering how you’d been forced to ally with him when you’d been desperately attempting to reach your younger child’s school, knowing that she’d never be able survive this alone. The two of you hadn’t been able to reach it till nearly a week later, and what you’d seen there then—well, you didn’t like to think about it. She hadn’t been there, from what you’d seen, but now that you strive to remember more you can think of how he’d searched as well, still keeping watch as he did.

You’d cried that night, when it was his watch, and he’d never mentioned it, but now you wonder what else you might have missed in your distress.

You pass the picture back, and you don’t say anything to him for the longest time. It’s quiet, and for once he isn’t needling at you, and you’re not trying to extract details of his past to condemn him for his actions in a world that no longer cares.

It’s quiet, and you finally break the silence.

“Thank you.”

He laughs briefly at that and tucks the photo carefully away again.

“Reckon that you’d understand that.”

That’s the first time that you manage to find peace of a sort in the apocalypse. It doesn’t last long, but the knowledge that someone understands the pain and guilt that you feel, even one as different as him, is a degree of comfort that you wouldn’t have expected before he shared his understanding with you.

It’s harder to hate him after he shows you that. True, he still tries to makes you angry, and you still needle at his past and religion, but with his sharing that the two of you find an equilibrium that allows you to coexist in a peace that you’d missed.  

More time passes. Months turn into a year, and you’re still reluctant to leave the city. You refuse to believe that both of your children are dead, even as you dread the thought of your blind daughter attempting to struggle in this world. He doesn’t want to go either, and you think that it might be for the same reasons.

Food is scarcer now, and it’s more dangerous to scavenge, but the two of you do. He keeps watch while you dig, rummaging through cupboards and closets, trying to find anything that might still be present. It’s while the two of you are doing this one day that you find the ultimate food of the apocalypse, the one item that you assumed would last forever should it be left alone in the chaos.

It’s a box of miserably squished Twinkies, something that was buried under junk in the bottom of a closet and somehow missed by any previous scavengers. He calls it a miracle, and for once you don’t scowl at that, and you laugh instead, willing in this situation to accept that much. You’ll allow him to call this a miracle, because after months of cold canned food and hungry nights, the thought of something sweet is unfamiliar, and truly, a miracle.

Later in the evening, when the two of you are holed up again, you carefully split one in two, scooting over to sit by him, passing a half over. You munch on your half, enjoying the admittedly overly processed taste and uncomfortably sweet filling. You don’t notice till you’ve finished your half the fact that the neither of you have moved away from the other, and you’re closer to another human being than you’ve been in months, and that it’s honestly something that you’ve missed. The two of you are always careful to stay out of the other’s space, and as you sit here now, you ponder why, after all this time, you’re still so cautious.

It’s odd. When you’d first started to travel with Gabe, you’d been wary, tense at every move and ready to attack and fight back, but with all that’s happened since the end you’ve come to trust him, first as a matter of necessity, and then later as a matter of choice, and you’re not sure what to think or feel about that. You think of your daughters and the things that you left unsaid with them, and how if you ever saw either of them again then you’d never let them go, and how you’d never let them think that you didn’t care, or that you didn’t have the time for them, and you tell yourself to take action, because you’re not going to miss an opportunity again.

You place your hand carefully on his, and then you wait.

“Ruby.” He finally speaks, after a minute of agonizing silence, and you look to him, keeping your expression even.

“Yes?” You ask in response.

“I don’t—“ He’s irritated, and you carefully withdraw your hand, but you meet his gaze calmly.

“Don’t what?”

He lets out a frustrated sigh. “Before all this it’d’ve been different.”

“Before this, I would’ve refused to speak to you.”

“Maybe.” He laughs at that, and you wait for him to continue again, and after a long moment he does. “Shit. This is hard.”

“I don’t think that it is.”

“But it is. Any other time when we weren’t here—if we were somewhere else, before all this, I could’ve taken you out.”

You can’t resist an attempt to needle him.

“I’d like to think that I’d’ve been enough of a risk for you to attempt that.”

He grumbles at that, and this time he reaches out to take your hand in his.

“Sure you would’ve. Not what I meant though, and you know that. I’d have liked you then, even if you’d’ve hated me.”

“Hate really is a strong word.” You offer, trying your best to be helpful. Or maybe just to fill the silence. You aren’t sure.

He snorts at that. “Sure you would. You told me that, and we both know it, and I get it. That’s you.”

“And now that I’ve lowered my standards so much what’s the problem? I need you, and I’d like to think that you need me to some degree.”

He’s probably rolling his eyes at you. You know him that well, but he’s still got your hand in his, and that’s something different.

“That’s the problem. Don’t want all this if you’re giving it out of pity, thinkin’ that you need to do it.”

It’s your turn to snort. “I’m really not.” You raise your eyebrows, staring at him. “When have I been one to pity you?”

“Fair point.”

You know he could mention his boys now, and how much you understand and pity and empathy towards his loss of them, but he doesn’t. Again, that’s still the one thing that’s sacred to the both of you.

“So why not?”

“’Cause I care about you, and it’s been that fuckin’ way since a few months after the start.” His frustration is evident in his voice now.

“Again, I don’t see why that’d prevent anything.”

“Why now?”

You’re on the spot now, and you carefully recite to him your thoughts from earlier, the logic behind your actions.

“I miss my girls, and they’re gone—I know they wouldn’t have survived alone.” You pause here, swallowing. What you need to say next is harder to vocalize, harder to admit. “I wasn’t the best for them. They needed me, both of them, but I prioritized things and told myself that they’d be fine, that it was for their sake, and in the end, I wasn’t there, and I lost them.” Looking down, you studiously examine the floor in the dim light. “I have—I’ve come care about you, and I’m not going to lose you too.” You meet his eyes again. “I’ve already made those mistakes once.”

A fraction of a moment passes, and he pulls you into his arms, and you go more than willingly, allowing him to hold onto you tightly, and as you’re there you realize that you’ve found something worth protecting, that while whatever you might find now will always pale in comparison to your memory of the world before and what might have been in either of your minds, this is something that is yours, and that you will protect it with whatever you have.

**Author's Note:**

> For the June writing challenge for 6/6/16


End file.
